A Singer is Born
by xxtwilight
Summary: Bella never jumped off a cliff in New Moon. Three years later, she is the lead singer in a popular Manhattan band. One night, Edward watches her concert at a club and confronts her. What will he think of her new lifestyle of partying, drinking, and drugs?
1. A Stronger Bella

Note: I am not Stephenie Meyer, nor do I wish to be.

**This first chapter was inspired by the song **_**Stronger by Britney Spears**_**. Once you get to the part where the lights dim and Bella begins singing, start playing the song. It helps you get in the mood, as well as understand the lyrics!**

**Also, keep in mind that Edward is watching her concert. It'll be fun to see how his reactions play out later. **

**Please read my author's note at the end of this. Hope you guys like it!**

"Give it up for Bella Swan and the Sixteen Hounds!" The enthusiastic announcer shouted into the microphone, holding it _way_ too close to his mouth. I winced, waiting for the inevitable faltering in the microphone's sound. The speakers emitted an unpleasant, wavering tone for a moment before fading into the first few beats of our song.

_Bella Swan and the Sixteen Hounds—funny_, I thought, without a trace of humor. As my group stepped onstage, it became painfully clear to the audience what an exaggeration had been made. There were four of us, including me. But the way the audience felt about this exaggeration was very different from mine—nearly all 600 audience members clapped and hollered our group name, probably too drunk to care that it didn't make sense, or laughing at the nonsense of it.

I remembered the day Jake had convinced me to be the group's lead singer. It was the same day he suggested—or, rather, forced upon us—our group name.

"_Shut up, Jake. That was awful—don't even try to argue with me." I had told him after singing a random song for him, after his weeks of nagging. Yet despite the embarrassment of singing in public—well, only for Jake, but that still counts—some small part of me wanted to know how I'd done. The only times I'd sing were in the shower and in my car, along with the radio, but never in front of anyone._

"_Bells," He said earnestly, almost awed. "That was really pretty." I could feel the blush creeping up my cheeks, and opened my mouth to cut him off. But Jacob held a finger to my lips._

"_No, really, Bella. You have a great voice—it's crystal clear." He saw the argument in my eyes fade, probably because of our close proximity, or the fact that his finger was warming my lips, and he leaned in and kissed me._

_It was a nice kiss. Sweet, warm, and tender—Jacob poured his feelings for me into one kiss. I knew I would regret allowing him to kiss me—and, in turn, making me forget my argument—but at the time I couldn't remember why, or bring myself to care. All I could think about was the feel of Jacob's warm, familiar lips on mine._

_All too soon the kiss was over, and Jacob pulled away from me, his hands holding my shoulders back gently, but with an inescapable force. He leaned in, resting his forehead on mine. "Bella," He murmured. "Please be our lead singer?"_

_And with that, the last of my resolve melted. I hated the power he had over me—how one small, insignificant, yet infinitely sweet kiss could scatter my thoughts and send my heart pounding._

"Stupid, stupid." I muttered with false resentment, unable to keep a smile from spreading across my face. That day had been one of my favorites with Jake. I didn't care that I had lost my argument—it was a moot point, anyways, Jacob would have won eventually—but I loved remembering the way he looked at me with a pure eagerness in his eyes, not far from elation.

Turning my attention to the microphone and audience, I tittered across the stage in the new, metallic silver 4-inch pumps Emily had bought me, insisting that I looked 'smoking' in them. Though I was still far from convinced on that point, Emily had made sure I wear them by unfairly showing me their price tag—I'm sure, in a way to guilt me into wearing them, claiming that it would be a waste of money if I didn't make good use of them.

_That_ point convinced me to wear them tonight. That, and the look in Jake's eyes every time he saw me wearing them. Though he would never admit it, I secretly believe that he would rather have me wear heels than my mundane, comfy sneakers.

I turned my thoughts away from lust for Jacob and focused, again, on my audience at hand.

"Hey, ladies and gentlemen!" I called into the microphones, though the noisy cheers of the audience did not quiet, only grew louder. My confidence didn't falter, though—I was used to this reaction. It was, in fact, a rock concert, and a little, or a lot, of volume added to blaring music never killed anyone.

"This is Bella Swan speaking. We really appreciate you coming out here to hear us! A quick note before moving on—the Sixteen Hounds just wanted to thank Midnight Records for having us. Hope you guys enjoy the show!" I yelled into the microphone, enthusiastic as ever. _This _was when the adrenaline typically started to kick in, a high I truly_ lived_ for. The adrenaline rush I felt before concerts like these was indescribable. Pure exuberance washes over you as you feel drunk and desirable—but mostly desirable, in a really sexy way.

Until experiencing moments like these, I never truly understood why singers and dancers performed in front of audiences. Until recently, I had been pretty shy and nervous myself when it came to public speaking. But after a few concerts with the Sixteen Hounds that went without a hitch, I began growing more confident in my singing and dancing abilities—thus, leading to heels.

The lights dimmed, reminding me that the song was about to begin.

"Our first song is a retake of Britney's 1998 hit single, _Stronger_." I said into the microphone before stepping back to take my position on stage.

A surreal, blue light shone on stage, washing away any anxiety I might have felt. I was _far_ too experienced to be nervous. I had sung this song—in front of an audience larger than eighty people, I might add—over twelve times. But, along with the adrenaline rush, I felt the familiar tugs of self doubt in my midriff.

I studiously ignored my reaction, drawing on my months' of practice with repressing unpleasant memories, and turned my focus on the music.

The first few beats blared through the speakers before I burst into song. "Ooooh hey, yeaah," I sang, my voice smooth and luxurious, with its depth residing deep in my diaphragm.

"Hush. Just. Stop." With that, I twirled on my heel, a step Jacob insisted I looked sexy doing. Though I usually vehemently rejected compliments of that nature, I couldn't help but believe him because of the twinkle his eyes held as he told me.

I continued singing the melody of the song, stopping only occasionally to add in a few trills and such. As I sang, I performed every dance step to perfection, after weeks of endless practicing. I twirled, dropped, shook, and kicked my leg up in all the necessary places, stopping only to wink at some admirer or a crazed fan, egging the crowd on.

I danced to the music as the melody reached its paroxysm. I smiled into the microphone—this was my favorite part, the most heartfelt part, at least for me.

At first, I always had trouble singing this part in the music—the words were all too familiar, painfully tugging at the remains of a hole in my chest, left by someone too dear and far to care.

The first few months after Edward left, I was simply too numb to cope. I ate, slept, did my homework, and made meals for Charlie—and that was about it. I no longer smiled, blushed, listened to music, or even spent time with friends—anything remotely involved usually contained _some_ aspect that would remind me of _him_.

But now, as the music reached its peak, I finally understood why singing was so much of a release to me now. Those _agonizing_ months filled with grief, anger, resentment, and disbelief all built up inside me—tearing me apart inside. At first, Jake was my only release, but he could only understand so much. Even now, Jacob still cannot understand why I loved Edward so much.

Songs, such as this one, were my only way of telling the world how I felt—in very few, yet significant words.

"Here I go, on my own now. I don't need nobody, not anybody." I sang, my voice flowing as ever, but rough with emotion.

As the music built up to a promising crescendo, bodies on the dance floor below us swayed, dancing, waiting.

"Here I go." My voice echoed.

"Stronger than yesterday. Now it's nothing but _my_ way." I knelt, allowing the emotions to seep into my voice, only increasing its soulful quality.

"My loneliness ain't killing me me no more. I'm stronger than yesterday." I sang, my voice ringing with a trueness and honesty obvious to even the most unobservant audience member.

Jacob and Quil took over then, engulfing the audience with sounds of their electric guitars. I was grateful for the distraction—I needed a moment to clear my head of any unwanted emotional responses.

The song finished, then—over as quickly as it had started. As if on cue, all 600 members of the audience burst into a round of applause, cheers, whoops, and hollers. I beamed, grinning widely before turning to face my band.

Then, the strangest thing happened.

I caught sight of a tall, pale man dressed in black in my peripheral vision. He looked somewhat familiar, but odd—he stood out from the audience, seemingly the only person not clapping. I turned to look to get a clearer look of him, only to find an empty space against the wall where he once stood. Or maybe it was my imagination.

Despite my constant assurances that he was probably just another party goer—no one interesting or familiar, I was not able to shake off the odd sense of déjà vu. I was bathing in the sensation of being watched. My senses were on high alert, and Jake's friends probably thought I was insane by the way I twitched uncomfortably.

We exited the stage, only to be showered with compliments by fans and audience members who were impressed by our performance. A girl who looked to be about sixteen—much too young to be at a club, I thought—ran up to me, shoving a notebook and pen at me. "Bella Swan! Oh my goodness—that was _amazing!_" She squealed, enunciating every syllable of 'amazing.' "Please, please, please sign my notebook! When and where is your next performance? I'll be there!" She promised breathlessly, probably a result of her run to be one of the first in line to compliment us. Or too many alcoholic beverages. I wasn't sure.

While signing her notebook, my eyes scanned the crowd, itching to see the strange, pale man that caught my eye earlier. _Where could he have gone? Did he come closer to the stage to greet our band?_ I asked myself, suddenly nervous to an excruciating degree.

That notion was probably ridiculous—if he had been close to our stage, I would have seen him by now.

I gave my autograph and smiled automatically to audience members that had enough patience to wait in the long line to ask. Some men's eyes lingered on my black form-fitting, sequined blouse but I couldn't bring myself to be bothered. My mind was occupied with the puzzle of finding the strange, mysterious man in black.

After my hand began aching from signing notebooks, I stopped giving autographs and excused myself for some 'fresh air.' Jenna, the third guitarist of our band, winked at me as we both squeezed through the tightly-packed bodies of the club, searching for, and finding, the notorious back door that led to the outside alley.

We sneaked out the door, desperately clutching our sides to keep from laughing. As soon as the first wave of cool, fresh air hit us—well, as fresh as you can get in Manhattan—our laughter got the best of us, and we exploded into giggles. After relishing the elated, rash feeling of our uncontrolled laughter, we got down to business.

"Do you have my share?" I asked Jenna as soon as I could breathe.

"Of course," She said, reaching into her purse, and drawing out two transparent orange tubes filled with hundreds of tiny pills. "Here you go." She said, handing them to me.

"More than usual? Aww, thanks Jenna." I beamed, happy to be able to double dose tonight. I had twice the servings, so…

"Actually… umm, the second one isn't free…" Jenna mumbled, biting down on her Revlon Red bottom lip, courtesy of Emily's makeup station. "Our normal guy wasn't available, so I had to fudge just a little." She finally looked up at me, her eyes wide with guilt and nerves.

I didn't care about the price, or who she got them from. I was just happy to be fully stocked again, and eagerly pulled out my wallet, handing her four twenties.

"Thanks, Bella." Jenna smiled, happy to be reimbursed. She took out her own orange tube, unlatched the top, and popped two pills in her mouth. I did the same, but with four. I could use the extra jolt tonight, and I definitely had enough stocked up.

"'Kay, so, I'm going back in now. I'm not putting these to waste, and I want to take that cute guy that asked for my signature home tonight." She grinned impishly.

"G'luck with that, Jenna." I answered, unable to prevent a yawn from escaping my mouth. I really_ was_ tired. Jake's habit of practicing the guitar at four in the morning was starting to wear on me.

"Bye, Bella." Jenna murmured before slipping inside.

"Bye, Jenna." I answered a moment too late. I closed my eyes, leaning against the brick wall. "Mmmm…" I breathed, feeling the drug starting to take effect.

It was quiet then, and I bathed in the sensation of dreamlike reality and a drunken fearlessness that seemed to overshadow any kind of anxiety I might have felt earlier...

That was when I heard the voice—_**his**_ voice, to be exact. After three years of replaying, in my mind, the pleasure retained from hearing his voice, seeing his face, holding his hand… none of it _compared_ to the sound of his real voice. It was insane—utterly ridiculous—how _one_ common, mundane, boring, overused word uttered from the_ right_ mouth could make my knees wobble, my head throb, and my ears ring, after all these years.

"Hello." Was all he said, his voice a lilting velvet sound in the breeze. After all these years, my memory of his voice had not done him justice at _all_. The sound of his voice brought a knife to the throbbing, open wound in my chest. I clutched my sides, trying to hold myself together.

I closed my eyes, knowing that he could not really be here.

"Bella?" He murmured, his tone a mixture of concern and longing—all seemingly insignificant, as they were overshadowed by the stunning beauty that was himself, and everything about him.

**Hey guys! I really hope you liked this. It took me all evening to finish. I always toyed with different scenarios of New Moon in my head, and this gave me a chance to voice one of them. **

_**Pretty, pretty please**_** leave me reviews as to whether of not I should continue this story, and what you like about it, so I'll know what areas to linger on.**

**Thanks so much!**

**-xxtwilight**


	2. Sweet Reunion

Note: I am not Stephenie Meyer, nor do I wish to be.

**Hi everyone! I am glad so many of you liked the first chapter… your reviews encouraged me to continue this story. Here's the next chapter! Let me know what you think of it.**

"_Bella?" He murmured, his tone a mixture of concern and longing—all seemingly insignificant, as they were overshadowed by the stunning beauty that was himself, and everything about him_.

My eyes flew open. This hallucination had gone _too_ far, and I needed to stop myself before—

He was really there.

Edward—the real, palpable, painfully _beautiful_ Edward—stood only a few feet away from me, looking at me hesitantly. I stifled a gasp as my eyes racked over the planes of his body, mostly sheathed in a black fabric… _silk?_

In a moment of numb incomprehension, as the reality of his presence had not sunk in yet, my mind realized that _he_ was the odd man in my peripheral vision, back in the club.

My memory had done him no justice. It was impossible—_incomprehensible_—that this magnificent, stunningly immortal creature had ever been the cause of my nightmares. Because standing here near Edward, albeit in the back alleyway of a noisy, Manhattan club, I felt a sense of unfamiliar _wholeness_, one that I had been lacking for the past three years.

As my eyes ran over the icy planes of his face, chiseled to perfection, drinking him up, I allowed myself a quick glance at his eyes.

It was a mistake.

As soon as I glanced into the eyes of the man who truly understood me, and once claimed to love me for who I was, there was no going back. I was immediately locked in the intensity of our trance, forgetting the rest of the boring, useless world around me—anything that was not a part of_ him_ lost all interest for me. We stood, leaning against the brick wall of the back of the Midnight Records club, for an immeasurable amount of time.

Still held prisoner in the intensity of his stare, I suddenly felt the urge to _touch_ him. I vividly remembered the feel of his cool, hard skin on mine, and the sigh of contentment that would usually accompany his touch. But, like most things, I assumed my memory's recollection of that was hardly accurate.

Hesitantly, I stepped forward, closing the distance between us in three slow strides. The musical 'clicks' of my leather pumps as they came in contact with the hard, concrete ground, a sound I usually took joy in hearing, sounded muted and far-away, as though the rest of the world had taken on a dream-like quality.

Or maybe the ecstasy was beginning to take effect.

Regardless, with or without drugs in my system, the butterfly sensation in my stomach was inevitable—as far as I could remember, I had always felt this way around him. The fact that I was standing a foot away from him—close enough to reach out, and touch him, if I wanted to—did not help ease the jagged rhythm my heart was pounding out. Of course, that was _exactly_ what I wanted to do—reach out and _touch him_. My entire being was yearning, and I found myself leaning forward, inhaling the heavenly scent I had missed so much.

"Bella." Edward's voice was gruff, ragged with emotion—but still too beautiful to belong to any human. His eyes seemed to be torn as he slowly—nervously?—raised his hands to my face.

The fluttering butterflies in my stomach suddenly exploded, flooding my esophagus. My breath hitched in my throat as his hands came in contact with the skin on my cheeks. I sighed dreamily, my eyelids slowly closing as he applied more pressure to his hold—like the dimmer switch in a room.

Suddenly, the brick wall surrounding us began to whirl, and the concrete beneath us seemed to shake as I reached out, clutching Edward's shirt, needing him as a support. My vision blurred, and my knees proved unstable as they wobbled uncontrollably beneath me, shaking my entire frame. The sickeningly familiar throbbing in my head grew stronger and more engulfing, threatening to take over. Suddenly, it all grew too strong and pronounced, taking over, and I lost the will to fight.

I collapsed.

A frightened, startled Edward caught me, holding me up. I did not need to worry about falling—his arms formed a snare around my waist, holding me in an unfaltering grip.

"Bella?" He asked, his voice frantic and panicked. "Are you alright?" Still dizzy from my near-fainting experience, I barely nodded. "Mhm," I mumbled, leaning into his shirt. Even half-conscious, I was aware of our proximity, and the sudden, uneven pounding of my heart proved it to him.

His quiet, musical laugh would have been hard to hear if I hadn't been leaning against him, feeling his chest vibrate as he chuckled. "Same old Bella," He murmured, burying his face in my hair.

As much as I wanted to stay in his embrace—eternity would suffice, actually—the faint sense of embarrassment washed through me as I realized I had nearly passed out in the arms of my unrequited love. I needed to convey to him that this was completely normal—I was more than alright, actually.

"I'm fine, Edward." I mumbled into his shirt. "Wouldn't have happened if I hadn't taken four." I looked up at him then, feeling a bit more balanced, and sighed into his face.

Whether he had just taken a whiff of the ecstasy and alcohol on my breath, or had just been reminded of my earlier drug encounter with Jenna, his face quickly turned somber. "Bella—are you sober?" He asked me. He seemed to have difficulty saying this out loud.

I opened my mouth to answer, but slowly closed it when I realized the only_ truthful_ answer I could give him would be one he didn't want to hear.

His eyes warily assessed my reaction, and he nodded as if he understood. "Drunk. Drugged. Take care of her at home or the hospital?" He whispered, talking mostly to himself than to me. "Home. Of course." He answered himself.

Before my blurred mind could even comprehend the sequence of events unfolding rapidly, Edward swooped me up into his arms. I sank into his embrace, suddenly feeling very drowsy. _Was I this tired before?_ I wondered sleepily.

Then we were flying.

The crisp, night air bit at my face as Edward raced through Manhattan, his feet leaving no evidence of touching the ground. The world whirled around me, and I watched, uncomprehending, at images that didn't make sense. Buildings, playgrounds, empty streets, and closed whizzed past us as Edward ran forward to an undisclosed location.

I had a feeling that my mind was dangerously close to snapping—so many events had occurred in the past hour, and I had not truly come to terms with them. I began feeling faintly queasy—whether it was due to the double-doses of ecstasy I had taken, the impossibly fast speed we were traveling at, or the fact that I was in Edward's arms, I had no idea—and settled for staring up at the sky.

The sky was unusually clear tonight. City lights sparkled in the distance from tall buildings, and starts, usually invisible in New York, glittered brightly against the navy sky. A crescent moon shone above the buildings, casting a surreal light over the city.

But the picturesque sky did not hold my attention for long. Soon, I turned my head to face Edward, drinking in the excessive, immortal perfection of his face.

And _that_ was infinitely more beautiful than any New York skyline. I watched his face, rememorizing his features with my hands. The gentle thrumming of his run oddly comforted me, reminding me of the vibration of a car. My eyelids became heavier, until any fight against them was impossible, and I curled up in Edward's arms and surrendered to sleep.

**Hey guys! How was that? I stayed up until 3 AM finishing it. (The last bit about Bella getting sleepy is inspired by the way I am feeling right now…yawn)**

**Please, please, please leave me a review of what you think of my writing/character development, what I can improve, or any suggestions on future scenes.**

**Thank you guys!**

**-xxtwilight**


	3. The Morning After

Note: I am not Stephenie Meyer nor do I own the Twilight series.

**Hey guys! Thanks for all the reviews, your suggestions REALLY help me. Please continue writing me!**

_My eyelids became heavier, until any fight against them was impossible, and I curled up in Edward's arms and surrendered to sleep._

The loud beats and flashing lights of the Midnight Records club were still perfectly clear in my mind, though, subconsciously, I was aware that I was partly asleep.

I frowned in discomfort as I stretched, feeling the achy cramp in my foot. But oddly enough, hard as I tried, I could not remember its cause. Even half-asleep, I sifted through my memories of the past night. After a year and a half of hangovers and 'morning afters,' I had become quite practiced in the art of recollection…

_Oh._

I swore internally as memories from the previous night came crashing down on me. The images in my mind swirled—likely an after-effect of the ecstasy and cosmopolitan…or _were there three?_—as I recalled the horrors of the previous night.

_Tightly packed bodies pulsated on the dance floor beneath the stage as I belted out the lyrics to a song… was it Stronger, by Britney Spears?_

_Later…_

_Fluorescent lights shone across the stage and dance floor as I shimmied to the beat of fast-paced, 'hit list' dance music. My swishy black skirt clung to my legs as I whirled, twirled, and dropped with various partners, all of whom I couldn't seem to remember. One of them, a cute twenty-something year old whose name I couldn't remember—Will? William? Wilson?—offered to buy me a drink, which I happily accepted._

"_I'll have a cosmopolitan with a double shot, please." I told the bartender, giggling like an eight year old, whether it was from my already drunken state of mind, or —_

My heart stopped, then broke into a sprint. I remembered _him_ perfectly.

_After taking four ecstasy tablets, an expensive courtesy of Jenna, I saw Edward outside._

_Oh, no. I shouldn't have drunk if I was planning on taking Jenna's delivery…_

I covered my face with my hands, humiliated to an unbearable degree. I sighed miserably. Even half-asleep, I was aware of Edward's touch, his fingers slowly capturing mine. His cool touch was a vivid reminder of last night's not-so-glamorous events.

_I fell asleep in Edward's arms as he ran to some undisclosed location. The gentle thrumming and the wind's slapping against my face had been oddly comforting, at the time…_

I cringed, shutting my eyes with more force than necessary. The worst of the night was yet to come.

I relived the next events in the night, feeling each emotion with renewed force.

_Beads of perspiration ran down my neck and drenched the back of my black sequined blouse. I felt a vague disapproval—which is hard to do while regurgitating—as I remembered the price tag of the designer's blouse, and Emily's not-so-subtle warning 'not to let a single liquid touch it, or else.'  
_

_Edward's arm stayed wrapped around my waist as I leaned over the hotel toilet, vomiting whatever was left in my stomach. The rancid aftertaste of vomit seemed to stay fresh in my mouth, even after brushing numerous times._

_Edward helped me out of my sweat-drenched clubbing outfit, the darkness of the hotel room serving as a cover._

_By that time of the night, I had been too far gone to realize Edward was helping me undress. _Undress.

_I vividly remembered watching Edward in the dim light as he pulled his shirt over his head—was it cashmere? Silk? I couldn't remember—and helped me into it._

_After that, I nearly fainted on the bed, in dire need of sleep._

My eyes snapped open as I gasped instinctively. My body felt as if it were twenty degrees warmer than usual—whether that was a result of my furious blush or the puffy covers on the bed, I had no idea—and I rolled off the bed.

Two stony arms caught me before I hit the carpet.

"Easy, there." Edward muttered, helping me back onto the bed.

I stifled a gasp as my eyes opened slowly, only to be met by a face so _excessively_ beautiful that I had to blink several times before accepting its presence. My eyes savored every drop of this stunning delusion that I so rarely experienced lately, though questions ran through my mind faster than I could comprehend.

_Why are his eyes so dark?_ I wondered. Usually my hallucinatory Edwards were better fed.

Though my eyesight was still blurred, I could clearly see the fright and anxiety prominently etched on his face.

At that moment, I disregarded sleep and my hangover. My mind screamed that my hallucination had gone_ much_ too far—that I needed tostop _now,_ before I was carted away to an institution—but a larger, rasher part of me ignored it.

All I cared about was Edward's presence—something I had missed with all my being for the past three years—whether it was envisioned or not.

"Edward?" I tried to ask, but my voice caught in my throat and his name left my mouth as a bare whisper. But he heard me, as I knew he would.

His eyes locked in my gaze with a familiar intensity, and I found myself unable to look away. "Good morning, Bella." His velvet voice answered, sounding serene. But the chagrin and concern in his eyes was unconcealed, and his seductive façade did not fool me.

"What are you doing here, Edward?" I whispered, trying to infuse my voice with the proper outrage and confusion I should have felt, but barely succeeding in speaking—my airways felt groggy and closed off.

As I tried to get a better look at my surroundings, I knocked the bed's covers off, revealing Edward's long, cashmere shirt, barely reaching my thighs.

I tried to sit up, but the swirling in my head accelerated and I found myself laying back down, my head on the pillow, with no idea how I got there.

"You'll feel better later," Edward murmured, not answering my question.

"What's going on?" I whispered, afraid my sleep-drenched voice would embarrass me by breaking.

Edward gently brushed a matted curl away from my face, his cool fingers leaving a white-hot trail in their wake. His touch sent my heart hammering, and he smiled upon hearing it. The smile was wrong, though—it didn't reach his eyes.

"I will tell you everything later. But you should sleep now."

He brought his hand to my face and brushed his fingers over my eyelids, gently closing them—his touch lighter and less substantial than a butterfly's wings.

My head whirled with thoughts about the last day, but the world had taken on a dream-like presence, and I could not bring myself to voice them.

I felt Edward's cool breath tickling my ear.

"Sleep now, Bella." He cooed.

And with that, I stopped resisting, and my subconscious happily won, sending me spiraling into hours of locked away, miserable dreams.

**Hi guys! I hope you liked this. I wanted to write a chapter where Bella wakes up and realizes, horrified, all that has taken place in the previous night. Also, it was fun to write some Bella-Edward dialogue without all the usual drama.**

**Pretty, pretty **_**please**_ **let me know **_**any scenes you would like to see played out**_**. Although I know where I am going with the story, I would love, love, **_**LOVE**_** to hear some of your guys' scene ideas!**

**Hope to hear from you!**

**-xxtwilight**


End file.
